“I have,” Prithvi’s voice said.
Prince Ashok looked at the man—and at his convincing presence.
The man was accompanied by an elder woman, roughly his mother’s age.
“And who might you be?” the Prince asked.
“He is the person who saved me and took care of me while I was wounded. I am in his debt. And this is his mother—she treated me kindly, like a mother,” Dhara said, admiration in her voice.
‘I am in his debt.’ Prince didn’t like the sound of that.
She explained how she had been injured and rescued.
Prince stepped forward. “Thank you for taking care of my wife. I wish to show my gratitude,” he said, motioning to Arya.
Arya came forward with a bag full of gold coins.
The villagers murmured among themselves, impressed; the man must be wealthy.
Prithvi did not accept the bag. He loo
